My readers... I take this opportunity to show case the talent that is Kenzia Masibo, a budding Kenyan Poet. It takes a lot to stand for what you are in a world that riddles creativity in judgement and scorn.
I present The Birth Of A God, by Kenzia Masibo.
The Birth Of A God
I wake today to a letter on my bedside table,
Addressed to me by my daughter’s hand...
What a gamble, this fool!
For the soul that wrote it was not merely humble
But swung its pen in a rageful antistyle
That is sure to catch my fleeting attention.
Rubbing my morning eyes ready for the compaction
That most oftenly follows a dark midnight composition.
Ah! And it greets me with such obvious assentation…
‘To my cherished and deared father’ I chock at its hilarity
As it should have ended at this dexterous vulgarity
Aimed at shrinking my judgment with emotional mediocrity
I regret every second of its secular viviparity…!
“I know you won’t shed a tear
For the man I once treasured and revered
Has over the years crooked into a heartless brute.
But I must say what I must.
And you must hear what you must.
My doing forced by the tyrant in nothingness
Beyond the sky holding my earth up with one hand
And dishing blows with the other.
That vile creature that just for a tickle
Presses its gigantic finger onto the little insects
Walking in the world too small to accommodate
Spineless creatures carrying snow blubs…
With a swaying child seen moving through the cracked glass,
Moving to hymns of quests and suspicions
Over a realm they are given flawed metaphors of
Descriptions they don’t comprehend but accept all the same
As they are set blind folded down a rocky hill
Decorated with crawlers and slithers and walkers
Promising a poised bite.
Breathe in infected air from the vermin’s’ lungs
When it’s over you are sure to be spotted
One little mark seen only by the host of the games…
But you must not get infected.
Hymns of praises to a domain you don’t understand
Hymns of confession for sins you don’t carry.
I write to the tyrant floating in ignorance.
My breathing in my world-
Likened to inhaling in a sulphurous pit.
My conception a misdeed,
My birth termed a mishap
My existence dismaying,
My thoughts depressive,
My very being a transgression by itself!
Yet my very patronal kin flourishes in the wonders
Of a purposeful being, the glorious calling
One deserving of praise and awe…
Undertakers whose sole vocation in rid-ing this…
Everywhere and anywhere of the unrighteous deemed
Wherever and however they see right.
And the earth’s core has no rage as the magma within me.
Swift Fluid forceful flames that turns and cracks
With my every inhale and exhale
Way harder than your whip cracked on my back
As you corrected my veracious thought
For the blameless should follow and not question.
Way harder than your whip cracked on my back,
When I was bent over crying mercy
For a child’s mere curiosity of the color
Out of the existing fallacious white!
And your whip will cuff you.
Bind your hands in the memories of your righties.
Memories of putting a rope to his neck
And lighting a fire beneath his midair kicking feet.
And beside his dangling licking coal… My love
My precious, the soul of my soul, my beloved…
My lovely lady Lucky snatched from my side
Kicking and screaming, lifted by the disciples
Of him that I begged and beseeched with for her life,
Offered my breath for hers
And you offered a consideration…
No hanging for the fair one,
What a beckon on kindness you were…
And then…
She was silent,
When diesel was your fuel of choice
She was silent,
When asked to speak her last words
She was silent,
When you hauled her hair and derided
She was silent,
When our eyes locked for years and years
She trembled as I collapsed onto the desecrated earth
And she did not shed a single tear when you lit her up.
Her haunting eerie moans always in my head
Over and over and thus existence has no force
As the one she builds in me that night and every night.
As the tear of every sacrificed soul slaughtered
Every life lost by the guiltless who now stand at plinths.
Alters before them blood purified and ----------scented
Their executioners lie in glimmering oil in their mercy,
A sacrifice of the slayers to the slayed by the slayed.
And you lie on many tables.
By your reading this
You would be lying on mine too.
For they are throng in me
Through me the legion will rise
Through me they will have power
Through me they will have their revenge.
Through me we will stop your kind.
Tonight I leave my state to join mine
And we shall be a union of gods
And we shall rain terror to all your kind,
The living and the dead alike.”
What have I done?
copyright. Kenzia Masibo.
Nekh.
I present The Birth Of A God, by Kenzia Masibo.
The Birth Of A God
I wake today to a letter on my bedside table,
Addressed to me by my daughter’s hand...
What a gamble, this fool!
For the soul that wrote it was not merely humble
But swung its pen in a rageful antistyle
That is sure to catch my fleeting attention.
Rubbing my morning eyes ready for the compaction
That most oftenly follows a dark midnight composition.
Ah! And it greets me with such obvious assentation…
‘To my cherished and deared father’ I chock at its hilarity
As it should have ended at this dexterous vulgarity
Aimed at shrinking my judgment with emotional mediocrity
I regret every second of its secular viviparity…!
“I know you won’t shed a tear
For the man I once treasured and revered
Has over the years crooked into a heartless brute.
But I must say what I must.
And you must hear what you must.
My doing forced by the tyrant in nothingness
Beyond the sky holding my earth up with one hand
And dishing blows with the other.
That vile creature that just for a tickle
Presses its gigantic finger onto the little insects
Walking in the world too small to accommodate
Spineless creatures carrying snow blubs…
With a swaying child seen moving through the cracked glass,
Moving to hymns of quests and suspicions
Over a realm they are given flawed metaphors of
Descriptions they don’t comprehend but accept all the same
As they are set blind folded down a rocky hill
Decorated with crawlers and slithers and walkers
Promising a poised bite.
Breathe in infected air from the vermin’s’ lungs
When it’s over you are sure to be spotted
One little mark seen only by the host of the games…
But you must not get infected.
Hymns of praises to a domain you don’t understand
Hymns of confession for sins you don’t carry.
I write to the tyrant floating in ignorance.
My breathing in my world-
Likened to inhaling in a sulphurous pit.
My conception a misdeed,
My birth termed a mishap
My existence dismaying,
My thoughts depressive,
My very being a transgression by itself!
Yet my very patronal kin flourishes in the wonders
Of a purposeful being, the glorious calling
One deserving of praise and awe…
Undertakers whose sole vocation in rid-ing this…
Everywhere and anywhere of the unrighteous deemed
Wherever and however they see right.
And the earth’s core has no rage as the magma within me.
Swift Fluid forceful flames that turns and cracks
With my every inhale and exhale
Way harder than your whip cracked on my back
As you corrected my veracious thought
For the blameless should follow and not question.
Way harder than your whip cracked on my back,
When I was bent over crying mercy
For a child’s mere curiosity of the color
Out of the existing fallacious white!
And your whip will cuff you.
Bind your hands in the memories of your righties.
Memories of putting a rope to his neck
And lighting a fire beneath his midair kicking feet.
And beside his dangling licking coal… My love
My precious, the soul of my soul, my beloved…
My lovely lady Lucky snatched from my side
Kicking and screaming, lifted by the disciples
Of him that I begged and beseeched with for her life,
Offered my breath for hers
And you offered a consideration…
No hanging for the fair one,
What a beckon on kindness you were…
And then…
She was silent,
When diesel was your fuel of choice
She was silent,
When asked to speak her last words
She was silent,
When you hauled her hair and derided
She was silent,
When our eyes locked for years and years
She trembled as I collapsed onto the desecrated earth
And she did not shed a single tear when you lit her up.
Her haunting eerie moans always in my head
Over and over and thus existence has no force
As the one she builds in me that night and every night.
As the tear of every sacrificed soul slaughtered
Every life lost by the guiltless who now stand at plinths.
Alters before them blood purified and ----------scented
Their executioners lie in glimmering oil in their mercy,
A sacrifice of the slayers to the slayed by the slayed.
And you lie on many tables.
By your reading this
You would be lying on mine too.
For they are throng in me
Through me the legion will rise
Through me they will have power
Through me they will have their revenge.
Through me we will stop your kind.
Tonight I leave my state to join mine
And we shall be a union of gods
And we shall rain terror to all your kind,
The living and the dead alike.”
What have I done?
copyright. Kenzia Masibo.
Nekh.
